


Dreams

by writingandchocolatemilk



Series: UsUk Oneshots [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a very strange sort of day. The kind of day where Arthur didn’t remember much but the present, the standing in front of Alfred. The couch was too big, and Arthur had trouble seeing his hands or what time it was, but Alfred was in front of him, clear and precise.</p><p>“You don’t love me!” Alfred was yelling, and the couch grew along the floor like a centipede.</p><p>Arthur couldn’t speak, but his chest hurt. Every time he opened his mouth, he couldn’t get a single word out. Shaking and panicking, again and again he tried to speak, to stop Alfred’s accusations.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
  <span>“How <em>dare</em> you bring that up,” Alfred yelled, pushing Arthur back with his strange, undefined hands. “You don’t know <em>anything</em>!”</span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">
  <span>Arthur was gasping for air, drenched in a sort of horror he had never known. Alfred kept getting angrier at—something Arthur couldn’t hear.</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yescherryboomiero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yescherryboomiero/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Arthur and Alfred Had a Fight.](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/93755) by Anonymous. 



It was a very strange sort of day. The kind of day where Arthur didn’t remember much but the present, the standing in front of Alfred. The couch was too big, and Arthur had trouble seeing his hands or what time it was, but Alfred was in front of him, clear and precise.

“You don’t love me!” Alfred was yelling, and the couch grew along the floor like a centipede. 

Arthur couldn’t speak, but his chest hurt. Every time he opened his mouth, he couldn’t get a single word out. Shaking and panicking, again and again he tried to speak, to stop Alfred’s accusations.

“How _dare_ you bring that up,” Alfred yelled, pushing Arthur back with his strange, undefined hands. “You don’t know _anything_!”

Arthur was gasping for air, drenched in a sort of horror he had never known. Alfred kept getting angrier at—something Arthur couldn’t hear. Alfred had taken off his glasses, and there was something wrong with his face. What, what, what was it? 

And then the sound cut back in, and Arthur was yelling back.

“Know? I know more about you than you would think, _little man_. You should have seen how you looked at me, like I was a _god_. And now you think we’re equals—but who always has the final say?” Arthur felt that terrible, terrible fear making his chest tight.

Alfred’s voice was off now, and all Arthur could see was his face, twisting and contorting. The couch had nearly touched the far wall, so it began to grow upwards. Why was it so dark? Arthur remembered these words in the light. 

“Shut up, _shut up about him_!” Arthur screamed, and then his not-hand slapped Alfred.

Then Arthur was on his back. He couldn’t move and all he could see was the ceiling, stretching away into forever and darkness. Alfred’s voice was nearby, or was it far, telling Arthur something. It was all over, not clear like it had been before. 

“I’m sorry… Please, look at me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Hey, look, please…”

Over and over again. Alfred sounding more and more desperate. Arthur wanted to reach out, scream, move, something, find Alfred and hold him and tell him useless words that would make everything better. But Alfred’s voice was getting farther and farther away, and then it became footsteps.

A door opened and shut. That was clear as a bell. And then endless, cascading darkness, tires screeched.

Arthur fell onto the couch. He sat up, gasping, eyes wild. He had hands now, but where was Alfred? He had left, but where had that stupid bloody git gotten himself off to?

Arthur’s eyes fell on the front door, and he vaulted himself over the back of the couch. 

“Alfred!” Arthur screamed, ripping open the door and charging into the snowy night. “Alfred!”

Knee deep in the snow, Arthur fought to the road. He reached the asphalt and slipped on the ice, falling heavily onto his hands and knees. Breathing.

“Arthur?” 

The hurried crunching of snow, and then Alfred was in crouching in front of him. Arthur nearly cried out in relief. Alfred reached out, gently touching Arthur on the shoulder. His hands weren’t the blurred mess like before.

“I thought—“

It was the first snowfall of the winter. It was explained later that the man hadn’t had the time to put snow treads on his tires.

All Arthur could remember was the blaring of a horn, the terrifying sound of tires searching for traction, light appearing, and then Alfred was gone. In his place a car, for a few moments, and then the view of the neighbor’s yard. 


End file.
